


Old Memories

by lovelyawesome



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Basically it's them being disgusting and cute, Brief mention of sex?, Brief mentions of other characters - Freeform, Cuddling, D.Va mention, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, Junkrat mention, M/M, Okay okay, POSSIBLY (probably) OOC, Tracer mention, Working Title: Old Gay Assholes Deserve Happiness, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7464627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyawesome/pseuds/lovelyawesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was cold when Jack woke up. Not the cutting, can feel it in your bones kind of cold, but the bitter cold of fresh morning air. Eyes heavy, brain fogged, he looked at the clock, but didn't immediately register what it said."</p><p>Otherwise known as the "These Two Deserve Happiness" fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Memories

It was cold when Jack woke up. Not the cutting, can feel it in your bones kind of cold, but the bitter cold of fresh morning air. Eyes heavy, brain fogged, he looked at the clock, but didn't immediately register what it said. 

0458 hours

He blinked a couple times then rolled over, an attempt to shut out the time and fall back into sweet, thoughtless darkness. Minutes - hours? - passed and he couldn't seem to, body tired but mind already racing, years of army training kicking in. Jack rolled back over and looked at the clock again.

0504 hours

Seven minutes had passed. With a grunt, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, arms up in the air in a full upper-body stretch. He was awake, enough for semi-coherent thought, for better or worse. He stood, knees cracking, and stooped over to grab a jacket off the floor, sniffing it to make sure it was clean before pulling it on over his tee shirt. 

The watchtower was still peaceful at this time, the whir of the fans, the sound of his footsteps, and the gentle _clink-clink_ of his dog tags the only audible noises in the hall. Jack made his way towards the canteen, terrible coffee at the forefront of his mind.

He wasn't expecting to see Reyes, as he passed a small sitting area, wasn't expecting him to be leaning against the wall, watching the sunrise from the large expanse of windows that lined the wall. Without thinking, Jack approached him, shuffling sleepily along before dropping his forehead onto Reyes' shoulder. Reyes chuckled, shifting so that he could turn and wrap an arm around Jack's waist, pulling him close. 

"Can't sleep?" Jack mumbled, burying his face into Reyes' neck and closing his eyes, already halfway back to dreamland. 

"Mission briefing in an hour," he replied, rubbing his hand up and down Jack's side. "Is that my hoodie?" 

"Mmmmprobably," Jack mumbled. "Was on the floor." He could feel Reyes's grumbling laugh, and huffed out a small one of his own, remembering how it had ended up on his floor, all heat and desperation, pushing and pulling at one another because close was _still not close enough_. Another moment passed, silent, before Reyes nudged Jack, bidding him to look out the window.

The sky was no longer the dark blue-black of early morning; it had erupted into pastel pinks and blues, deep, vibrant oranges and fading greys, the sun peeking up over the mountains. The first rays of morning light broke through wispy clouds, glowing red and yellow. It was still cold, too crisp, in the watchtower, and it was still early, so early, but through the fog that still clouded his thinking, that still filled his brain with murky water, Jack couldn’t quite remember a moment when he was more at peace. 

 

_But the memory was just as vivid as the day it had happened._

He could still feel the warmth of Reyes pressed up against him, the soothing motion of his hand on Jack’s side; he could still see the colors of the sunrise and the cold of the watchtower. 

Jack Morrison was no longer a young man, full of dreams and ambition and hopelessly in love with his best friend -- he was older now; blonde hair gone white, hairline receded, his bones creaked and ached and his knees didn’t bend as well as they used to.

His memories were more vivid, almost tangible; they had been since the explosion, since the fight that killed him and Reyes, since his vision was ripped away from him and all he could see was black. The visor helped, but it would never be the same. A lot of things would never be the same.

He laid in his bed (cot, really, the temporary base that they’d set up in Gibraltar wasn’t built for comfort, but convenience), eyes open, unseeing. The visor chirped at him, a short, small noise, to notify him of the turning hour. Old habits died hard, and old soldiers still woke up early. 

“I’m sorry to intrude, Soldier 76, but there seems to be some trouble in the kitchen.” Athena’s voice echoed in the mostly empty room. “Miss Song appears to be assaulting Miss Oxton.” With a weary sigh, 76 fumbled around his nightstand, searching for his visor and snapping it into place when he found it. 

As it booted up and the objects in the room faded into view, outlined in soft amber, a small explosion rocked the base. 

“Mr Fawkes appears to have entered the fray, Soldier 76.” As if it had been timed, he could hear Jamison’s pitched cackling as another explosion sounded -- was the damn ingrate lobbing around _grenades_? “There may not be much of a kitchen left if you hesitate much longer.” 

A lot of things would never be the same, that much was true, but at least it was unpredictable, and Soldier 76 was, well, not happy per se -- 

But he would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> oh god okay i'm nervous about posting this okay
> 
> leave a kudo or a comment if you want (no pressure)
> 
> edit: it's been like, two months (and i'm working on new stuff, promise) but if anyone cares, you can find me on tumblr @jacks-flat-ass


End file.
